


Close Enough To Kill

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Denial, Loss of Control, Loss of Identity, M/M, Manipulation, Mentions of the pack, Nemeton, Nogitsune, Self-Denial, Self-Destruction, Self-Hatred, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Spark!Stiles, Stigitsune, They/them Pronouns for Void, Unreliable Narrator, Voiles, broken bonds, claiming bite, stiles stilinski - Freeform, void!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:42:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22216498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Where does Stiles end, and where does Void begin?
Relationships: Nogitsune & Stiles Stilinski, Nogitsune/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 5
Kudos: 173





	Close Enough To Kill

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I appreciate kudos, comments and bookmarks a lot. Thank you for reading ~

They’re drowning. Stiles can’t breathe, and he’s pretty fucking convinced he’s on the verge of a panic attack. His fingers are twitching, heartbeat thumping loudly in his chest and he can taste bile in the back of his throat. It’s so hard for him to maintain balance; to find common ground, something to lean on, an … An anchor.

_The nemeton._

As they open their eyes, the familiar surroundings beckons them to come closer. Its energy is hypnotizing, thrumming through the ground and stretching outwards. Like a beacon. But no, _not the nemeton_ , they have to remind themselves. It’s merely glimpses of fractured memories, merging and falling apart.

Two separate lives, once merged. _Once_.

When they look at the nemeton again, it’s stained red. The pile of decaying bodies on top of the nemeton is tugging at Stiles like an invisible red string, pulling him closer. The blood is lingering in the air, and they hear the sound of distant screams - screams belonging to that of a time long forgotten. 

All of the sacrifices are only aiding the nemeton in becoming stronger, and will eventually unleash an unfathomable amount of energy. 

What the nemeton needs is a spark.

-

Stiles wakes up. They’re no longer whole; no longer an ‘us’ or ‘we’, but the damage is already done. ~~Their~~ his mind is fractured, falling apart. ~~They’re~~ \- he’s … He’s not Stiles. And he’s not Void, either. He’s … Something else. He buries his face deep in his pillow; inhaling, but its scent is unfamiliar. Reminding him of a person he no longer recognizes.

Gazing towards the window, he faintly sees the outline of the moon. The dream is still fresh in mind, vivid, flashing colors playing on rewind.

 _No_ , he reminds himself. _Not a dream. Nightmare_.

He swallows thickly, mouth dry and counts his fingers with extreme care. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten_. He breathes out heavily, body tensing before he’s absolutely still. He’s human. He likes to entertain himself with the idea that he is, at least. He has bones in his body, like everyone else.

The only visible bones are his teeth unless he gets injured, breaks something in his body. His tongue is heavy in his mouth, vomiting words he doesn’t wish to speak. _Not aloud_. He has a nose, scenting the stench of mortal rotting and decay. There’s two feet attached to this flesh prison, left and right. 

Sometimes they take him to places where he doesn’t wish to be, but where he has to be present. Other times he wishes to be in certain places, but his feet can’t move. Frozen in time. There’s arms attached as well, its hands have five fingers on each, left and right. 

With the fingers he grasps, desperately clinging onto life and time. The latter dissolves in his grasp and he is left with life. Oxygen, a beating heart. Its thumping in his chest synchronizes with the rhythm of war drums. Yes, he’s-- falling apart, tearing at the seams. 

_Human_. It seems like such a foreign concept to him at that moment.

-

The pack doesn’t notice. Not the lack of hunger, or of sleep. Not the dark bags under his eyes, his sickly thin frame or his long, bony fingers. He knows why that is. They don’t care about him and at first it hurt to admit. Hurt so fucking much, to the point of the blinding white, hot pain paralyzing him. 

Now there’s nothing but a dull ache, serving as a reminder of what they once had. Their bonds are broken and none of them has noticed. And if they have, they haven’t told him. The pack is only taking advantage of him, otherwise they keep him out of the loop and weeks pass by before they finally interact with him again. 

He’s so fucking sick of it, sick of them and the treatment he’s getting. But he’s doing better now that he’s alone.

Sure, he sometimes loses track of time or finds himself at places he’s never been to before. It’s normal, human. Just like it’s human to crave for something else, a different kind of hunger. The kind of hunger only satiated by chaos, strife and pain. He shivers at the mere thought, a moan escaping his parted lips.

He misses them; Void.

-

It’s getting harder and harder for him to maintain focus during classes. Stiles is constantly distracted by heartbeats mingling and voices overlapping. And the real kicker of it all? The pain, suffering and despair has never tasted any better. He revels in their misery, cornering those that taste the best.

He offers a sympathetic smile and a gentle squeeze on the shoulder with a promise of privacy, no one else will know of their conversation but them. 

Then it begins, the feast. The gleam in ~~their~~ his dark eyes sparks fear, reeking off of the poor, unfortunate students, mixed with sadness, guilt and pain. Oh, the sweet pain, he can almost taste it on the tip of his tongue. They never mention any of it during the encounter and it’s for the best, according to him.

Natalie Martin notices his efforts, and praises him for being caring and helpful towards other students.

When Stiles returns home the following evening there’s something waiting for him on his bedside table. His heart leaps out of his chest, throat tightening and he can’t tell if it’s out of fear or pleasure. The triskelion urn harnesses great power and he’s basking in its ethereal presence. He doesn’t remember when or how it came into his possession.

It doesn’t matter, he decides. He lifts the urn, carefully removing the lid as if it’s fragile and made out of crystal clear glass.

In the same instance a sense of relief and peace washes over him. Somewhere in the distance thunder faintly rumbles and crackles, a sign of warning. The ghost of a hot breath on his neck causes shivers down his spine. He groans and desperately leans into the solid embrace of Void, longing for contact.

”We’ve missed you, Stiles”

He whimpers as fingers grace his body, skin burning with each sickening touch and he’s aching for more. He hates how he craves it, so fucking desperate, needy and touch starved. He’s been cold since they left, never able to regain the warmth. Now a different kind of fire is burning within him, a fire they ignited.

All they need is a spark. 

Their teeth prick his neck, only for them to bite down, hard. _Starving_ , they’ve been starving for so long. And Stiles willingly gives in, despite the excruciating pain entering their shared body and mind. They’re marking him, claiming him as their own. He sucks in a harsh breath and Void is soaking it in, the sight of him wrecked. 

They pull back, arms firm around his waist the only thing keeping Stiles upright. He moans low in his throat, body writhing uncomfortably in an attempt of seeking friction. The sinister smile on the corner of their lips doesn’t go unnoticed on Stiles’ behalf and he kisses them. It’s messy and he doesn’t stop until all he can taste is lust.

Void fucks him into oblivion, skin burning red from bite marks and nails clawing deep, and the constant hand resting on his throat tightens. Despite the daze he’s engulfed in, a realization comes to light. Stiles is hellbent on self destruction, annihilating the ‘self’ he used to possess in the process. And Void knows it, too.


End file.
